Alright, so I'm an idiot. Here I am, listing to Born Ruffians' First Date Kid (and loving the shit out of it), getting so hung up on the obvious Tokyo Police knock off. I go so far as to come and make a clam jam comparison, and then I get to you tube and I see this:
At least I'm an idiot who's kinda right.
Also I can't get over playing my comparison song. It too is just so, so good.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sifl and Olly: It's Crescent Fresh
Does anyone remember the Sifl and Olly Show? Perhaps this will be an aha reminder moment that flashes you back to oh... 1998, when this gem was still airing on MTV. It was a masterful, off kilter puppet show made by Liam Lynch and Matt Crocco. I remember discovering it in 5th grade, and then mourning its loss that same year. Watching it now, and hearing all the amazing 1990s references makes me really happy--specifically frequent ones of Bjork and Clare Danes (Did you see my last post? Apparently this is a trend).
These two videos are probably my favorite Sifl and Olly moment. And I'm totally bringing back crescent fresh. (Or maybe just bringing it around for the first time.)
Oh, and here they are dressed like pimps, for good measure.
These two videos are probably my favorite Sifl and Olly moment. And I'm totally bringing back crescent fresh. (Or maybe just bringing it around for the first time.)
Oh, and here they are dressed like pimps, for good measure.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Latisse Ruins Claire Danes' Eyes Forever
Really, this isn't even a story. We all saw this coming, didn't we? When we watched those poor commercials with those poor, poor women, batting their grossly underplumped, stubby little blonde colored eyelashes, we knew. We knew they would start permanently altering the color of their irises and eyelids to change. Because this is 2010, and that is what we do.
Claire Danes made the horrible, horrible mistake of being the Latisse spokeswoman. She rubbed that eyelash-growing goo all over her lids, and now look. Her face is getting discolored.
Alright, so her face is looking pretty fine there. And maybe the story is all a rumor. Facts about Claire Danes don't actually matter here, because no matter what's going on with her, there are hundreds of women in the world saying "That's why I trust my lashes to Latisse." That is a quote from the website. Apparently Latisse is like the Credit Suisse of facial hair.
Couldn't they just trust their lashes to themselves? And not run the risk of hyperpigmentation around their eyes, or their irises turning permanently brown?
I think skin discoloration is God's go-to punishment for being so ungrateful for your own personal self that you have to smear chemicals on your face to make your eyelashes grow.
The sun's mass is 1.98892 × 1030 kilograms. Do you understand how insignificant your eyelashes are?
Also, according to the site, if you stop using Latisse, your eyelashes return to their normal size. We're talking about a lifelong program here. Or maybe a I'll-use-it-until-someone-loves-me program.
To top things off, the after pictures look like freakish nightmares. Eyelashes aren't supposed to get knotted up. You're not supposed to comb them. It's just not right. Look at these things:
It's like those little deep sea creatures that wave their sticky fibrous arms around waiting to catch some bigger fish's poop. (You know about those little guys, right?)
Anyway, before I go off to watch Bridalplasty, I'd just like to make one final observation. The page with "Real Questions" about Latisse also features some facts about Botox and a certain brand of breast implants. And at the very, very bottom is a copyright from the Make a Wish Foundation. Because, you know, all of those things go together.
Claire Danes made the horrible, horrible mistake of being the Latisse spokeswoman. She rubbed that eyelash-growing goo all over her lids, and now look. Her face is getting discolored.
Alright, so her face is looking pretty fine there. And maybe the story is all a rumor. Facts about Claire Danes don't actually matter here, because no matter what's going on with her, there are hundreds of women in the world saying "That's why I trust my lashes to Latisse." That is a quote from the website. Apparently Latisse is like the Credit Suisse of facial hair.
Couldn't they just trust their lashes to themselves? And not run the risk of hyperpigmentation around their eyes, or their irises turning permanently brown?
I think skin discoloration is God's go-to punishment for being so ungrateful for your own personal self that you have to smear chemicals on your face to make your eyelashes grow.
The sun's mass is 1.98892 × 1030 kilograms. Do you understand how insignificant your eyelashes are?
Also, according to the site, if you stop using Latisse, your eyelashes return to their normal size. We're talking about a lifelong program here. Or maybe a I'll-use-it-until-someone-loves-me program.
To top things off, the after pictures look like freakish nightmares. Eyelashes aren't supposed to get knotted up. You're not supposed to comb them. It's just not right. Look at these things:
It's like those little deep sea creatures that wave their sticky fibrous arms around waiting to catch some bigger fish's poop. (You know about those little guys, right?)
Anyway, before I go off to watch Bridalplasty, I'd just like to make one final observation. The page with "Real Questions" about Latisse also features some facts about Botox and a certain brand of breast implants. And at the very, very bottom is a copyright from the Make a Wish Foundation. Because, you know, all of those things go together.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Songs That Make Me Say "Bah Humbug"
Christmas is a magical time for happiness and family and giving (and maybe over-spending and stressing about eating too much pie or whatever). Overall, there's really nothing to hate, and a whole lot to love. Oh wait, except these songs. I HATE these songs. So bah humbug.
If you can listen to these the whole way through, you're either going to heaven or have full blown Asperger's.
First and foremost, it's Christmas Shoes. (Or, as I like to call them, vomit shoes.)
Second is The Little Drummer Boy. Remember elementary school music class, when we all drank the kool-aid and went around saying things like "ta ta tee tee ta!" and "tee tee tee tee ta ta!" and we hated ourselves, but we did it anyway? Parumpapumpum is just one step further off that cliff.
Oh wait, you wanted to hear Jessica and Ashlee Simpson sing it? Of course you did!
Warning: This next one might just ruin your day.
What else, but a little Wham! to ring in the holiday spirit? "Last Christmas I gave you my heart.." Yeah, that'll be playing in your head until Valentine's Day, so enjoy kiddo!
I'll stop there, because even the worst of all the rest have a little something special. Plus, they only have to come around once a year. But those three.... I will shake my fist at those three until the end of time.
Tell me if you think I forgot a classic Christmas horror song!
Thanks to Nadia, for reminding me how good Band Aid is at ruining Christmas. This song makes me want to kick a Salvation Army bell ringer.
If you can listen to these the whole way through, you're either going to heaven or have full blown Asperger's.
First and foremost, it's Christmas Shoes. (Or, as I like to call them, vomit shoes.)
Second is The Little Drummer Boy. Remember elementary school music class, when we all drank the kool-aid and went around saying things like "ta ta tee tee ta!" and "tee tee tee tee ta ta!" and we hated ourselves, but we did it anyway? Parumpapumpum is just one step further off that cliff.
Oh wait, you wanted to hear Jessica and Ashlee Simpson sing it? Of course you did!
Warning: This next one might just ruin your day.
What else, but a little Wham! to ring in the holiday spirit? "Last Christmas I gave you my heart.." Yeah, that'll be playing in your head until Valentine's Day, so enjoy kiddo!
I'll stop there, because even the worst of all the rest have a little something special. Plus, they only have to come around once a year. But those three.... I will shake my fist at those three until the end of time.
Tell me if you think I forgot a classic Christmas horror song!
Thanks to Nadia, for reminding me how good Band Aid is at ruining Christmas. This song makes me want to kick a Salvation Army bell ringer.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sipping Reality
Pepsi has been trying to be more popular than Coke since the beginning of time.
A quick glance at the facts, and you get this:
From it's (totally disgusting) start in 1898, the Pepsi logo has gotten more work done than Joan Rivers. And like Joan Rivers, there's always something just a little off. No matter how much you try to trash talk Coke's dress, its is always going to look better on the red carpet.
And remember this?
No, not even Britney Spears' exposed belly button could save Pepsi from the throes of second place.
Over the past 112 years, Pepsi Co. has earned its place as the world's greatest practitioner of futility. (Finally, number one!) It makes you feel kind of bad for them, right?
Well then maybe you can get guilted into Pepsi's next gimmick. At first glance, this just might work. People might enjoy it. Until those people think for two seconds and realize it's kind of disgusting, kind of makes you a little... uncomfortable.
Behold:
The Pepsi throwback, first of all, looks awesome. It makes me think of the good ol' days when my biggest concern was riding my bike after sundown and not getting bug spray on my knee scratches. This can, in retrospect, was a pretty nice looking specimen.
But alas -- the horror! The throwback is made with REAL sugar for a LIMITED TIME ONLY. Why, Pepsi? Why? You have thrown yourself under a bus once again. And you're probably going to need a Coke to revitalize your spirits.
This is 2010. We are living in an era of tree hugging marketing gone wild. Everything MUST be real. It MUST be organic. The seeds of Pepsi's sugar should be hand-sown by vegan yoga masters in the hills of the redwood forest.
Why on earth would they tell us that in a little while Pepsi is going to be filled with some sort of fake sugar? (Probably corn syrup, I suppose.) Pepsi is blatantly admitting failure, holding hands with defeat and giving it a big old gun and wink smile. And it doesn't even KNOW IT.
I bet Gap logo is smiling, wherever he is.
A quick glance at the facts, and you get this:
From it's (totally disgusting) start in 1898, the Pepsi logo has gotten more work done than Joan Rivers. And like Joan Rivers, there's always something just a little off. No matter how much you try to trash talk Coke's dress, its is always going to look better on the red carpet.And remember this?
No, not even Britney Spears' exposed belly button could save Pepsi from the throes of second place.
Over the past 112 years, Pepsi Co. has earned its place as the world's greatest practitioner of futility. (Finally, number one!) It makes you feel kind of bad for them, right?
Well then maybe you can get guilted into Pepsi's next gimmick. At first glance, this just might work. People might enjoy it. Until those people think for two seconds and realize it's kind of disgusting, kind of makes you a little... uncomfortable.
Behold:
The Pepsi throwback, first of all, looks awesome. It makes me think of the good ol' days when my biggest concern was riding my bike after sundown and not getting bug spray on my knee scratches. This can, in retrospect, was a pretty nice looking specimen.
But alas -- the horror! The throwback is made with REAL sugar for a LIMITED TIME ONLY. Why, Pepsi? Why? You have thrown yourself under a bus once again. And you're probably going to need a Coke to revitalize your spirits.
This is 2010. We are living in an era of tree hugging marketing gone wild. Everything MUST be real. It MUST be organic. The seeds of Pepsi's sugar should be hand-sown by vegan yoga masters in the hills of the redwood forest.
Why on earth would they tell us that in a little while Pepsi is going to be filled with some sort of fake sugar? (Probably corn syrup, I suppose.) Pepsi is blatantly admitting failure, holding hands with defeat and giving it a big old gun and wink smile. And it doesn't even KNOW IT.
I bet Gap logo is smiling, wherever he is.
Who's upset about RateBU.com?
Ok, ok, ok. It's old hat, right? We're all over it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, girls being objectified and judged without consent or control. Yeah, yeah, nice rack on number 7. Who cares?
I really, really do.
Ladies (and I mean all of my fellow BU alumni) -- imagine if this list existed when you were in college. Do you know what that would do to the Comm Ave walk of shame? It would be the Comm Ave break down of horrors. The Comm Ave writhing pit of of self-consciousness. The Comm Ave holy shit have these people all seen me? And only given me a 68 out of a hundred?
I don't know if you guys remember this, but a lot BU girls are seriously, seriously shallow. Many of them are nearly impossible to hang out with (often too distracted wearing heels and mini skirts, walking across the 3-inch sheets of ice Allston calls "roads" in below-zero winds). The creator of RateBU has basically taken a campus that suffered from the crippling effects of vain self-centeredness and turned into the official University of Judging Women's Looks, now giving out degrees in all major academic areas, including Are My Tits Out? and This Bag is a Fendi.
Being a graduate of Boston University, and therefore totally vain and self-centered, I haven't read much about the reaction to RateBU. I just signed up using my old school email address to check out how many of the girls were hotter than me. (Newsflash: it's all of them.)
I'm not going to read into it---pish posh, who has time for their alma mater these days anyway?---but I do know this: There are currently "2,472,162 votes cast on 1389 students!" according to the site. When I discovered RateBU on Tuesday, thanks to the beautiful Irena Eaves, who I would totally score a 98.5, there were only "750,526 votes cast on 387 girls!" Basically, shit is blowing up, and any kind of press, good or bad, is only going to fan the fire.
Oh hey-- "researching" for this story (totally unecessary) and I just realized there are some hot, barely legal BU Boys up there now. Time to start flinging panties ladies! Yeahyuh! (Just kidding, this is all totally disgusting.)
Let's just cut to the chase and talk about what every one wants to know. Take a look at our top ranked man and woman, basking in the glory that is sure to be Prom King and Queen times... 2,472,162.
Meet Lyla and Adam...
They're going to make so many Justin Beiber babies. Am I right? Huh? Huh?
Another finding in my (highly scientific) research: you don't actually rate anyone by numbers. It's a simple comparison model based unapologetically on Zuckerberg's original drunken concoction in Harvard.
(Haven't heard the history? click this little picture to get the quick run down:
Justin Doody, RateBU's creator, who, based on name alone, will never make it on the top rankings of the site, nor jumpstart a career like Zuckerberg, set up a system where two BU students' pictures pop up next to each other, along with a prompt asking you to pick "Who's Hotter." (I kind of wish the phrasing was more retro, a la "Who's the Bigger Hottie?" or "2hot4u69"... but I digress.)
Sometimes the pairs are wildly divergent -- totally normal girl eating ice cream on the street, next to Miss Va-Va-Voom Snookie Poof McGee? How can you compare?
Other times, they're uncannily similar:
Black and white chick in a bikini vs. black and white chick in a bikini? Now that's a comparison I can handle!
(By the way, did I mention how much I hate myself through all of this?)
Jumping over to the guys, we are reminded how silly girls can look in their pictures when compared to their unassuming male counterparts who get ranked wearing chicken hats* and candidly cooking.
(That guy's chopping pineapple off a Sleeper Hall desk, and he's totally getting my kudos vote.)
What it comes down to (kind of) is that girls already have a ton of pictures of themselves up on Facebook being all like "Omigod doesn't the dress make my ass look GREAT?!" and "I love curling my hair before I go out to parties!" while guys are just saying "Heh, heh. Chicken hats are funny" and "Sometimes I cut pineapple in my room."
If RateBU was, for some inexplicable reason, just guys, it wouldn't really be that offensive. It would just be a bunch of dudes on a site, and I bet they wouldn't even care about walking down Comm Ave one bit. (Oh, but could you imagine the bro high fives amongst the top rated? It's barfable.)
Like I said, I haven't read anything about the reaction, so maybe this is all a bunch of irrelevant crap, but RateBU seems to be a feminist's dream scenario---proof that women objectify themselves, and then get upset about people objectifying them. It's all "Don't you call my momma fat; only I call my momma fat!"
I never took Women's Studies, so I'm kind of out of my league here in terms of current philosophies on the subject, but it seems like if women just stopped giving a rat's ass about their hair and their teeth and their nail beds, sites like this could be simple (albeit slightly judgmental) fun.
None of those guys are crying in their twin-sized dorm bed over poor rankings, but I bet more than a handful of girls are fretting, and therein lies the problem.
Am I getting somewhere with this or am I crazy? Maybe no one actually cares about the site, and it is all simple fun. Maybe I'm just a big sensationalist muckraker. I'm projecting, right? I should just shut my mouth and stop worrying about my nail beds.
*I'm totally up for discussion if someone thinks that hat might be a penguin.
I really, really do.
Ladies (and I mean all of my fellow BU alumni) -- imagine if this list existed when you were in college. Do you know what that would do to the Comm Ave walk of shame? It would be the Comm Ave break down of horrors. The Comm Ave writhing pit of of self-consciousness. The Comm Ave holy shit have these people all seen me? And only given me a 68 out of a hundred?
I don't know if you guys remember this, but a lot BU girls are seriously, seriously shallow. Many of them are nearly impossible to hang out with (often too distracted wearing heels and mini skirts, walking across the 3-inch sheets of ice Allston calls "roads" in below-zero winds). The creator of RateBU has basically taken a campus that suffered from the crippling effects of vain self-centeredness and turned into the official University of Judging Women's Looks, now giving out degrees in all major academic areas, including Are My Tits Out? and This Bag is a Fendi.
Being a graduate of Boston University, and therefore totally vain and self-centered, I haven't read much about the reaction to RateBU. I just signed up using my old school email address to check out how many of the girls were hotter than me. (Newsflash: it's all of them.)
I'm not going to read into it---pish posh, who has time for their alma mater these days anyway?---but I do know this: There are currently "2,472,162 votes cast on 1389 students!" according to the site. When I discovered RateBU on Tuesday, thanks to the beautiful Irena Eaves, who I would totally score a 98.5, there were only "750,526 votes cast on 387 girls!" Basically, shit is blowing up, and any kind of press, good or bad, is only going to fan the fire.
Oh hey-- "researching" for this story (totally unecessary) and I just realized there are some hot, barely legal BU Boys up there now. Time to start flinging panties ladies! Yeahyuh! (Just kidding, this is all totally disgusting.)
Let's just cut to the chase and talk about what every one wants to know. Take a look at our top ranked man and woman, basking in the glory that is sure to be Prom King and Queen times... 2,472,162.
Meet Lyla and Adam...
They're going to make so many Justin Beiber babies. Am I right? Huh? Huh?
Another finding in my (highly scientific) research: you don't actually rate anyone by numbers. It's a simple comparison model based unapologetically on Zuckerberg's original drunken concoction in Harvard.
Justin Doody, RateBU's creator, who, based on name alone, will never make it on the top rankings of the site, nor jumpstart a career like Zuckerberg, set up a system where two BU students' pictures pop up next to each other, along with a prompt asking you to pick "Who's Hotter." (I kind of wish the phrasing was more retro, a la "Who's the Bigger Hottie?" or "2hot4u69"... but I digress.)
Sometimes the pairs are wildly divergent -- totally normal girl eating ice cream on the street, next to Miss Va-Va-Voom Snookie Poof McGee? How can you compare?
Other times, they're uncannily similar:
(By the way, did I mention how much I hate myself through all of this?)
Jumping over to the guys, we are reminded how silly girls can look in their pictures when compared to their unassuming male counterparts who get ranked wearing chicken hats* and candidly cooking.
(That guy's chopping pineapple off a Sleeper Hall desk, and he's totally getting my kudos vote.)
What it comes down to (kind of) is that girls already have a ton of pictures of themselves up on Facebook being all like "Omigod doesn't the dress make my ass look GREAT?!" and "I love curling my hair before I go out to parties!" while guys are just saying "Heh, heh. Chicken hats are funny" and "Sometimes I cut pineapple in my room."
If RateBU was, for some inexplicable reason, just guys, it wouldn't really be that offensive. It would just be a bunch of dudes on a site, and I bet they wouldn't even care about walking down Comm Ave one bit. (Oh, but could you imagine the bro high fives amongst the top rated? It's barfable.)
Like I said, I haven't read anything about the reaction, so maybe this is all a bunch of irrelevant crap, but RateBU seems to be a feminist's dream scenario---proof that women objectify themselves, and then get upset about people objectifying them. It's all "Don't you call my momma fat; only I call my momma fat!"
I never took Women's Studies, so I'm kind of out of my league here in terms of current philosophies on the subject, but it seems like if women just stopped giving a rat's ass about their hair and their teeth and their nail beds, sites like this could be simple (albeit slightly judgmental) fun.
None of those guys are crying in their twin-sized dorm bed over poor rankings, but I bet more than a handful of girls are fretting, and therein lies the problem.
Am I getting somewhere with this or am I crazy? Maybe no one actually cares about the site, and it is all simple fun. Maybe I'm just a big sensationalist muckraker. I'm projecting, right? I should just shut my mouth and stop worrying about my nail beds.
*I'm totally up for discussion if someone thinks that hat might be a penguin.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Christmas List 2010 Part Two
December 9th, and the Christmas march keeps rolling on. James and I just celebrated Christmas #1 on St. Nicholas Day Eve, the most obscure of holidays. (Coincidentally it was also Krampus Day, and if you don't know what that is then you better get on it. I have too much to say about Krampus to let it take over this, the Christmas List Part Two.)
Surprisingly, my family up in Connecticut didn't get me a waterfall for my apartment OR a bedazzled pony. We have three more celebrations to go, so I'm holding out and keeping faith in the rest of the fam(s).
To the list!
16. New York City Plates. These plates are where I want to represent, yo. Despite a large portion of the city getting gypped here, the old WB managed to sneak in. And who cares about what's above 65th anyway? Also, I like to imagine Bloomberg eats off these plates going "Moo-oo-ah-hah-hah-hahhhh."
17. Custom rings from Littlefly. Jeremy May takes hundreds of pages out of books, laminates them together and turns them into the most kick ass rings on the planet. I think I'd want one made out of Nine Stories. Or maybe a big chunk of Nabokov's collection of shorts... as long as it could include Sounds and La Veneziana. It would be the best. ring. ever.
Ugh, how boring that this is ring number two on the list, by the way. Moving on...
18. A fancy shmancy apartment. Emphasis on the shmancy, please. I suppose this place will do.
19. iPod DJ station. My favorite new gadget, taking party DJ-ing to a whole new level. You know when you have people over and they all want to plug in their iPod and take over the music? That sucks--especially when you put together a playlist perfectly curated for the party scene of your dreams, where everyone gets down like it's a Bud Light Lime commercial, except they're way cooler and the drinks are better. But alas, music raiders are an inevitable consequence of drunk people gathered in groups. This DJ station makes it all a little more bearable. (And by bearable, I mean awesome.)
(Merkury Innovations also makes these really cool speakers out of recycled candy boxes. Hear the rainbow, or whatever.)
20. A weekend getaway in Dildo, Newfoundland. Seriously, guys. Who's up for spring break? Dildo Newfoundland is a magical place, filled with amazing sights to see. There's The Dildo Dory Grill, Inn By the Bay (where you can get it in... by the bay), and don't forget to take a short journey down to South Dildo, where you can drive down Spread Eagle Road. I repeat, Spread Eagle Road.
Even if we don't go, it's really fun to look up information about Dildo on the internets. Check out these search results:
21. Babushkups When's the last time you wanted to give a cup a hug?
22. Baby ducklings that never get old and just swim around in a cup in my kitchen forever. Plus they never ever poop, or eat. And Gary never tries to eat them, but just licks them on their little duck beaks, and they quack and quack and swim and swim and all is right in the world and there is no more sadness or pain. There is only duckling cup.
23.Glow in the dark sunglasses. And I'll just tell Kanye to suck it.
24. A Roomba. This is clearly for Gary, but I guess it serves the dual purpose of slightly cleaning our house. Unfortunately, these things are insanely over priced. Maybe that's just the cost of watching a cat attack a dog while riding a Roomba.
If we're talking about robots, we should really be focusing on this guy, the R2D2 Robot. Yeah, my bad. That's the one I really want. (He does EVERYTHING!)
25. A gym membership. This is really lame, I know, but I haven't hit one of these bad boys since college, for realz. It's kind of depressing, but not as depressing as the women from Bridalplasty. Gym membership or not, I still win!
(the results of searching "gym thumbs up")
26. The Pi Mobility Bike.
Just kidding. That thing is so douchey I can't even handle it. (Get it? Handle it? That's a bike part.)
27. A trip to the bottom of the ocean. Do you know what kind of awesome stuff goes down at the bottom of the sea? I've only seen about 600 hours of deep sea footage in my life, so I'm not really sure. But I have a hunch it's mind-blowing. Basically, to give me this gift your plan should be this: kidnap a marine biologist's wife (or husband, you sexist) and force him to give me a ride in his submersible, or else.
27 1/2. I also need to see this guy, or the lady gets it.
28. An iPad. Ok? I said it. I just really, really want one. And so do you. You do. Stop denying it.
Have you guys ever gotten your hands on one of these? I have.
First of all, iPads make it so much fun to Netflix-binge in bed. They also make it so much fun to snag the window seat at the coffee shop and watch the hipster parade go by while typing away about meaningless drivel and clicking through apps and games and useless programs, and generally accomplishing nothing aside from embracing new technology at its pinnacle of impracticality.
It is so great!
29. A lifetime supply of Oslo mocha lattes. Speaking of coffee shop hipster parades... Oslo is my coffee shop Mecca. I make the sacred journey as often as weekend hangovers will allow. Then I spend $4 on a delightfully delicious cup of coffee, and drink it as slow as I can, to make it last through more than 5 pages of a book, and also to make it seem worth $4. With a lifetime supply, I could just chug away until I was shaking too much to hold another cup! And then I'd probably just sip it off the table. Mmm...
30. A 1,000% raise. I'm gonna need mad loot to maintain my new apartment, the indoor waterfall and that pony everyone gets me. Plus, I'll want a lot of spending money in Dildo. Hopefully my boss is deeply entrenched in the Christmas spirit.
We made it! Greed is kind of exhausting, you know? I'm worn out from all this want. Except for peace and joy and happiness for all men and all that. I still have room to want that.
Oh, and um, here's a picture of Krampus. For good measure.
He is dripping with holiday cheer.
Surprisingly, my family up in Connecticut didn't get me a waterfall for my apartment OR a bedazzled pony. We have three more celebrations to go, so I'm holding out and keeping faith in the rest of the fam(s).
To the list!
16. New York City Plates. These plates are where I want to represent, yo. Despite a large portion of the city getting gypped here, the old WB managed to sneak in. And who cares about what's above 65th anyway? Also, I like to imagine Bloomberg eats off these plates going "Moo-oo-ah-hah-hah-hahhhh."
17. Custom rings from Littlefly. Jeremy May takes hundreds of pages out of books, laminates them together and turns them into the most kick ass rings on the planet. I think I'd want one made out of Nine Stories. Or maybe a big chunk of Nabokov's collection of shorts... as long as it could include Sounds and La Veneziana. It would be the best. ring. ever.
Ugh, how boring that this is ring number two on the list, by the way. Moving on...
18. A fancy shmancy apartment. Emphasis on the shmancy, please. I suppose this place will do.
19. iPod DJ station. My favorite new gadget, taking party DJ-ing to a whole new level. You know when you have people over and they all want to plug in their iPod and take over the music? That sucks--especially when you put together a playlist perfectly curated for the party scene of your dreams, where everyone gets down like it's a Bud Light Lime commercial, except they're way cooler and the drinks are better. But alas, music raiders are an inevitable consequence of drunk people gathered in groups. This DJ station makes it all a little more bearable. (And by bearable, I mean awesome.)
(Merkury Innovations also makes these really cool speakers out of recycled candy boxes. Hear the rainbow, or whatever.)
20. A weekend getaway in Dildo, Newfoundland. Seriously, guys. Who's up for spring break? Dildo Newfoundland is a magical place, filled with amazing sights to see. There's The Dildo Dory Grill, Inn By the Bay (where you can get it in... by the bay), and don't forget to take a short journey down to South Dildo, where you can drive down Spread Eagle Road. I repeat, Spread Eagle Road.
Even if we don't go, it's really fun to look up information about Dildo on the internets. Check out these search results:
Dildo photos? Oh boy!
Also added to the Christmas list are whatever sort of "dildo treasures" they're selling at the old inn. I repeat, dildo treasures.
21. Babushkups When's the last time you wanted to give a cup a hug?
22. Baby ducklings that never get old and just swim around in a cup in my kitchen forever. Plus they never ever poop, or eat. And Gary never tries to eat them, but just licks them on their little duck beaks, and they quack and quack and swim and swim and all is right in the world and there is no more sadness or pain. There is only duckling cup.
23.Glow in the dark sunglasses. And I'll just tell Kanye to suck it.
24. A Roomba. This is clearly for Gary, but I guess it serves the dual purpose of slightly cleaning our house. Unfortunately, these things are insanely over priced. Maybe that's just the cost of watching a cat attack a dog while riding a Roomba.
If we're talking about robots, we should really be focusing on this guy, the R2D2 Robot. Yeah, my bad. That's the one I really want. (He does EVERYTHING!)
25. A gym membership. This is really lame, I know, but I haven't hit one of these bad boys since college, for realz. It's kind of depressing, but not as depressing as the women from Bridalplasty. Gym membership or not, I still win!
(the results of searching "gym thumbs up")26. The Pi Mobility Bike.
Just kidding. That thing is so douchey I can't even handle it. (Get it? Handle it? That's a bike part.)
27. A trip to the bottom of the ocean. Do you know what kind of awesome stuff goes down at the bottom of the sea? I've only seen about 600 hours of deep sea footage in my life, so I'm not really sure. But I have a hunch it's mind-blowing. Basically, to give me this gift your plan should be this: kidnap a marine biologist's wife (or husband, you sexist) and force him to give me a ride in his submersible, or else.
27 1/2. I also need to see this guy, or the lady gets it.
28. An iPad. Ok? I said it. I just really, really want one. And so do you. You do. Stop denying it.
Have you guys ever gotten your hands on one of these? I have.
First of all, iPads make it so much fun to Netflix-binge in bed. They also make it so much fun to snag the window seat at the coffee shop and watch the hipster parade go by while typing away about meaningless drivel and clicking through apps and games and useless programs, and generally accomplishing nothing aside from embracing new technology at its pinnacle of impracticality.
It is so great!
29. A lifetime supply of Oslo mocha lattes. Speaking of coffee shop hipster parades... Oslo is my coffee shop Mecca. I make the sacred journey as often as weekend hangovers will allow. Then I spend $4 on a delightfully delicious cup of coffee, and drink it as slow as I can, to make it last through more than 5 pages of a book, and also to make it seem worth $4. With a lifetime supply, I could just chug away until I was shaking too much to hold another cup! And then I'd probably just sip it off the table. Mmm...
30. A 1,000% raise. I'm gonna need mad loot to maintain my new apartment, the indoor waterfall and that pony everyone gets me. Plus, I'll want a lot of spending money in Dildo. Hopefully my boss is deeply entrenched in the Christmas spirit.We made it! Greed is kind of exhausting, you know? I'm worn out from all this want. Except for peace and joy and happiness for all men and all that. I still have room to want that.
Oh, and um, here's a picture of Krampus. For good measure.
He is dripping with holiday cheer.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
My Kind of Tourism
Have you ever heard of thanatourism? That would be travel to "macabre destinations," according to a recent article in The Atlantic, and it's a "booming global industry."
Sweet.
Thanatourism is basically my dream come true. It's like watching all my favorite documentaries, except you get to go and think about the violence, disease, and untimely death right in front of the places where it really happened! Ideally, I'd like to go to Jonestown, but I don't think they have a tourism department set up just yet. I'm gonna have to go with Auschwitz as a Plan B.
The thing about all these morbid sites is that their tourism programs focus on some sort of rectification -- whether it's giving money back to victims' families or setting up information centers to send out the message: "Hey, let's not do this again, okay?"
Not Cambodia. At sites of historic importance to the Khmer Rouge--you know, like killing fields and stuff--the Cambodian government is setting up shop just to bring in the dough. No apologies, no paying anything back, no moral to the story, just a sign that reads "Tourism will bring money and jobs."
Real nice, Cambodia. This is almost as cool as exploiting homeless people... except way, way worse.
Apparently there are plans to build a theme park with the money brought in from people going to stare at fields where mass murder took place. Check out this lady doing it:
She looks like a strong supporter of Cambodian water slides. (and maybe fake tits)
This is like thanatourism on speed. The only thing that can really one-up going and staring at killing fields is going on rides that were shamelessly funded by them. It's about as dark as you can get.
While I am totally into thanatourism (and really hoping someone comes out with a travel guide), this next level might actually be too much for me. Historic devastation I'm into, modern tragedy, not so much. Um, unless they put up a water park in Jonestown. Everyone knows that would be the coolest.
Sweet.
Thanatourism is basically my dream come true. It's like watching all my favorite documentaries, except you get to go and think about the violence, disease, and untimely death right in front of the places where it really happened! Ideally, I'd like to go to Jonestown, but I don't think they have a tourism department set up just yet. I'm gonna have to go with Auschwitz as a Plan B.
The thing about all these morbid sites is that their tourism programs focus on some sort of rectification -- whether it's giving money back to victims' families or setting up information centers to send out the message: "Hey, let's not do this again, okay?"Not Cambodia. At sites of historic importance to the Khmer Rouge--you know, like killing fields and stuff--the Cambodian government is setting up shop just to bring in the dough. No apologies, no paying anything back, no moral to the story, just a sign that reads "Tourism will bring money and jobs."
Real nice, Cambodia. This is almost as cool as exploiting homeless people... except way, way worse.
Apparently there are plans to build a theme park with the money brought in from people going to stare at fields where mass murder took place. Check out this lady doing it:
She looks like a strong supporter of Cambodian water slides. (and maybe fake tits)
This is like thanatourism on speed. The only thing that can really one-up going and staring at killing fields is going on rides that were shamelessly funded by them. It's about as dark as you can get.
While I am totally into thanatourism (and really hoping someone comes out with a travel guide), this next level might actually be too much for me. Historic devastation I'm into, modern tragedy, not so much. Um, unless they put up a water park in Jonestown. Everyone knows that would be the coolest.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Clam Jam #7
Seeing as the last Clam Jam was kind of a cop-out, what with there being no video and all, I thought I'd roll out with the next one, stat.
It is bright and crisp and breezy and beautiful today, and so is this song. If you don't love it, we can't be friends. I mean it.
Plus the video is so tiiight!!
The band is Hjaltalín, showing us once again that Iceland is where it's AT. Want proof? Check out the Iceland Music Export. Plus they have hot springs and shit, so beat that.
Update: I literally emailed the band about 5 minutes ago, and they already got back to me. Seriously, Iceland, why are you so awesome? The artist who did the video is Hermann Karlsson .
It is bright and crisp and breezy and beautiful today, and so is this song. If you don't love it, we can't be friends. I mean it.
Plus the video is so tiiight!!
The band is Hjaltalín, showing us once again that Iceland is where it's AT. Want proof? Check out the Iceland Music Export. Plus they have hot springs and shit, so beat that.
Update: I literally emailed the band about 5 minutes ago, and they already got back to me. Seriously, Iceland, why are you so awesome? The artist who did the video is Hermann Karlsson .
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